Action Figures
by missbegonia
Summary: Seth wishes they made Ryans in action figure size.


Action Figures

Seth wishes they made Ryans in action figure size.

He has reasons for this. If Ryan was portable in this way, he could fit in his pocket. And then Ryan would be there, always, whenever he needed him, whether it was just to chat or listen to him ramble or play some GTA or give him a hug or beat up a stray water polo player or two, just for fun. He could just reach in his pocket, and BAM! Instant best friend. It would be like Ramen, but much, much better.

Seth wants pocket-size Ryan because real-size Ryan is being rather elusive. Ever since he came back from Chino he's been like Ryan times ten, all of his qualities inflated exponentially – more brooding, more quiet, more mystery. But somehow he's lost that deep, visceral je ne se quoi that he had before – the Ryan essence, perhaps best termed _Ryanity. _Or _Ryanitude. Ryanocity? _

Seth doesn't know whether it's the summer they spent apart that's changed everything, or the fact that the more that changes, the more that stays the same. Ryan came home and even though he acted all tough and old-Ryanish, Seth couldn't help feeling like he could _see _the scars now, see where Ryan had been beaten and bruised. He wants to help, to be more than just a hyperactive clown jumping around to get his attention. But he doesn't know where to start. How to make Ryan understand he won't run away again just because his problems sometimes come in a variety that can't be cured by three hours of mind-numbing over-analysis or a Balboa bar.

He knows he's no expert on the "real world," that Ryan is light-years ahead of him when it comes to experience, whether it's of a emotional, psychological or sexual nature. And sometimes he feels it, when he says something particularly inane and Ryan gets this look – it's just a flash, really, gone in seconds – that says, "You're so _young_."

Ryan is the oldest seventeen year old on earth.

That's intimidating, Seth admits. Another reason Ryan would be improved by being pocket-size.

Because Ryan may be shorter, but when he looks at Seth with that blank intensity, that forceful glare, Seth literally feels like he's been slapped in the face, that he needs to sit down, to lean against something for support.

Seth used to feel like it was okay to lean on Ryan, that he'd hold him up. But after what happened this summer, what with the sailing off and the silent treatment and the petulant refusing to come home, Seth couldn't really blame him if he just dropped him on his ass, let him hit the ground because he deserves it.

But Ryan's not like that. Even now. Even though Seth's not exactly sure _what _Ryan's like, anymore.

Seth made a serious mistake, and he knows it. He kept repeating to Ryan that he wanted things to go back to the way they were, that he should get back together with Marissa now that Seth's back with Summer and they can be one big happy family again. Seth repeated it so many times he thought he must be on the verge of making it come true, somehow willing it into existence like clapping for Tinkerbell. Because Seth _does _believe in Ryan, he does he does he does! But last Saturday night Ryan finally lost it, told him to just _stop _it already, stop living in the past. Ryan's still hurting over Lindsey's abrupt departure, a fact Seth should have been more conscious of, would have if he'd been a better friend.

"You keep saying you want things to go back to the way they were, Seth, but they weren't that great, okay!" Ryan shouted. "When I was with Marissa all we had was crisis after crisis. She'd be drinking and there was Oliver and Luke and the pills and her mother and the divorce and I just…I'm _over _it, okay?" Ryan buried his head in his hands. "I'm over it. I'm over it now."

So Seth stops waxing nostalgic, and starts thinking. He thinks about everything that happened last year, that action-packed annum filled with parties that ended in brawls, a model home that went up in flames, marriages that dissolved in scandal, and plenty of people who spiraled into self-destruction.

Yeah, there'd been good times – great ones, even. He'd gotten Ryan. He'd gotten Summer.

And then he lost them.

And Ryan – Ryan who had gained everything Newport Beach had to offer, complete with a healthy dose of condescension and patronizing prejudice – had lost everything he'd ever known. His mother. His brother. His home. His oldest girlfriend. His newest girlfriend. His baby.

Seth feels nauseous. He feels horrible. He feels like the worst person to ever walk the earth.

He sidesteps so quietly around Ryan for the next few days that Ryan gets spooked, asks him whether he's on some kind of new medication. Seth wonders if that's an insult. "What is _wrong _with you, man?" Ryan asks. "You're becoming a mime. It's creepy."

So Seth drags Ryan into the poolhouse and makes him sit down and spends five minutes asking if he can get him anything, a glass of water or a pillow or does he need clean sheets, perhaps?

"Seth," Ryan says through gritted teeth. "Just _say _it."

"I'm sorry," Seth gasps out. "I'm really really really really sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Ryan asks.

"For everything. For being the worst friend ever. For being insensitive and a prick and for going on and on about nothing all the time. Because you – me – you – " Seth stutters, gesturing back and forth between them so rapidly that Ryan looks a little dizzy. "We're a team, right? We've got each other's back, right? But I'm an idiot, and I've totally been ignoring your back, dude, and it has to stop, like, now, because we're not getting any younger, and – "

"Seth," Ryan says in a low voice. "Focus."

"Dude," Seth whispers. "Just. Dude, I'm sorry. Sorry times ten million and three. Sorry like Charlie Sheen for cheating on Denise Richards. I can't even say how sorry I am, because – "

Ryan clamps his hand onto Seth's arm. "I get it, Seth. It's okay."

"Is it…really? Is it really okay?" Seth's voice is shaking. Seth feels like the biggest tool ever. A tool with no use. A useless tool.

"I think maybe the best thing we could do would be to…move on?" Ryan says. "Because this whole rewind thing – not working so much for me."

Seth feels his throat go dry and he really wants to hug Ryan, to _feel _him close to him, just so he'd know he's really here, that he's not having another one of those dreams he had in Portland where everything was just a little brighter than normal because Ryan was still around. Ryan makes everything Technicolor. "I…I totally agree. I could not agree more."

"Good," Ryan says, and his eyes meet Seth's for a moment. It's probably just a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Seth is worried that he'll see anger or sadness or that dull ferocity that burns sometimes behind Ryan's eyes, those smoldering embers left over from a past Seth realizes he knows nothing about and can't possibly understand.

But there's none of that there. It's a vintage Ryan look, wide blue eyes fixed on Seth, unblinking. Silent.

It's vulnerability.

Seth has so many things he wants to say, like always. He wants to tell Ryan that he loves him, that he's his brother forever and no amount of emotional trauma will ever change that. He wants Ryan to know that he thought about him a lot on the boat, that he went over all the stupid things he'd said to him over the past year, the things he could have done better. That he wrote a revisionist history to rival all revisionist histories, it was so complicated and complete and amazing.

He wants to tell Ryan that he doesn't need him to be action figure size, because he always carries him around anyway, in his heart. It's total cheese, but it's true. And Seth knows it's not going to change.

"Thank you," Seth says to Ryan, and Ryan blinks, surprise clouding his eyes. Seth doesn't know what he's thanking Ryan for, specifically, but he knows it's important. Important like friendship and moving forward and change.

Ryan half-smiles. "You're welcome," he replies.

Ryan understands.

He always does.

The End


End file.
